lies and revenge
by my daydream world
Summary: When Treville was a solider his best friend Pierre Degrand turned out to be a spy working against France. Pierre vowed one day he would get revenge against Treville. Nineteen years later Pierre is back to carry out his revenge, which involves d'Artagnan. Treville is forced to tell the other musketeers his secret. currently getting beta
1. An Old Friend

Lies and revenge

Summary: When Treville was a solider his best friend Pierre Degrand turned out to be a spy working against France. Pierre vowed one day he would get revenge against Treville. Nineteen years later Pierre is back to carry out his revenge, which involves d'Artagnan. Treville is forced to tell the other musketeers his secret.

Chapter one: An old friend

Nineteen years ago – just outside Paris

It was raining hard as Treville looked at the man before him. "Please tell me that you are not the spy Pierre," he said, a mixture of sadness and anger in his voice. He didn't want to believe his friend was a spy - he could only hope he was wrong.

"I did what I had to do," replied Pierre Degrand. "What are you going to do? Kill me? You wouldn't do that - I know you."

"You have betrayed me and our brothers in arms." Treville drew out his sword. "You have betrayed France!" With one swift, determined movement, Treville struck Degrand in the leg with his sword. His former friend fell to floor. "The others will be here in a matter of seconds. Soon everybody will know what you have done."

Pierre looked up at Treville, a look of sad disappointment on his face. "After everything I have done for you, you are going to do this to me?" He shook his head. "I will not forget this, Treville," he vowed. "If I get out of this alive I will find you and I will have my revenge."

"Do your worst," Treville said, as the sound of horses drew nearer.

The Musketeers Garrison– nineteen years later

Treville had just finished reprimanding two of his finest Musketeers for a prank they had played on d'Artagnan. The prank hadn't bothered d'Artagnan at all (he had suffered worse back in Gascony) but Porthos and Aramis had been spotted by the baker's wife who had reported the incident back to Treville, thinking they had been harming an innocent boy. D'Artagnan was annoyed to be called 'an innocent boy' and Aramis and Porthos were biting their lips to prevent themselves from laughing. Even Athos was struggling to keep a straight face. If he were honest with himself, Treville also found the situation funny but he managed to keep the amusement off his face better than his three Musketeers could.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Treville paused in his remonstrations long enough to say "Come in." Expecting a musketeer returning with yet another report, Treville was shocked to see an older man with a limp enter his office. This was a man he hadn't seen in nineteen years, but he knew instantly who he was - Pierre Degrand.

Treville looked at Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan. He knew he should tell them what this man had done but something stopped him. "You may go and don't get into any more trouble," he instructed his men. "Do your duties."

"Yes sir," said Aramis, a little too quickly. Treville knew that tone well. It was the tone of a man who wanted an adventure. Porthos and d'Artagnan had same looks on their faces. Eager to be on their way, the musketeers and d'Artagnan walked out of Treville's office leaving the Captain with one of the people he hated the most.

"What are you doing here?" asked Treville sharply, the amusement of the previous situation was gone. He looked at the man who was once his friend.

"The young lad," said Pierre lightly, not answering Treville's question or seeming to notice the tone of voice Treville was using. "He looks at bit like your late brother, Luc"

"I fail to see any likeness," replied Treville seriously. "Now, what do you want? I should kill you where you stand."

Pierre smiled bitterly. "I see you are still not happy with me. I thought after all this time you would let go of some of your anger. After all, it's been nearly two decades now."

Treville looked at Pierre, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You betrayed me and our brothers. You only cared about yourself. You let innocent people die and the worst thing is you're not sorry for what you did."

"And you," snapped Pierre. "You could have forgiven me and helped me, like I helped you. But you tossed me in the gutter and damaged my leg, which, as you can see, never healed properly. I vowed one day you would pay."

"Are you threatening me?" asked Treville.

"No, I am warning you." hissed Pierre. "I will make you pay for what you did to me and all the years I have suffered because of you!"

Treville stood up. "Don't blame me, you chose your path and you must face the consequences of your actions."

Pierre smiled. "You are right. I will leave you for now, but you will hear from me soon." He bowed mockingly to Treville and left the Captain's office. Treville sat back down and closed his eyes. Sometimes he wished life were easier.


	2. Kidnapped

Chapter Two: Kidnapped

The Last Stand Tavern - Paris

Later that evening, the three musketeers and d'Artagnan were having a drink in the local tavern. "I think today's gone well," said Porthos, watching one of the bargirls out of the corner of his eye.

"We hardly did anything though." Aramis sounded a little disappointed. Turning to d'Artagnan, he continued, "Can't you get yourself arrested again or something?"

"Why should I be the one who gets arrested?" asked d'Artagnan indignantly. Sometimes he wished he wasn't the youngest – there was only so much testing he could take.

"Pay him no attention," said Athos at once. "He was only joking"

"Well, things have been a little quite lately," mused Porthos, abandoning his attempt to catch the bargirl's eye. "Too quiet... I feel like we need to do something interesting... have a fight or something. I would do another prank but I think the Captain will blow up if we did."

"Just don't start anything; we don't need that kind of trouble," said Athos draining his drink. "So, who's getting the next round? Aramis?"

"I got the first lot," replied Aramis.

"Porthos?"

"I'm not going to be the one carry you back tonight," Porthos laughed.

Athos rolled his eyes and looked at the youngest member of their group. "D'Artagnan!"

"Sorry. I have to pay rent or my landlord will kick me out," said d'Artagnan. "It is already over due"

"I'm sure Constance won't let you be kicked out" said Aramis lightly. "She likes you, for some strange reason. She never liked me as much."

Porthos smiled. "She must have better taste in men, or like innocent boys." Porthos laughed and he was joined by Athos.

Aramis ignored them and turned to d'Artagnan who was scowling at Porthos and Athos. "You're not scared of Monsieur Bonacieux, are you? Whatever happened to the headstrong young lad that challenged us to a fight?"

"I'm not scared!" retorted d'Artagnan immediately. "I just learnt to chose my fights better." With that d'Artagnan got up and left the Tavern.

"At least he's learnt something," mused Athos.

Porthos laughed. "He hasn't really learnt how to control his temper yet has he? He is the most hot-headed person I know."

The streets of Paris

D'Artagnan walked back though the street of Paris; the city was oddly beautiful at night but maybe he only thought so because he was from the country and the only light there at night came from the moon and stars. D'Artagnan liked walking past all the houses with light streaming out of the windows. He was lost in thought when he was stopped by a strange man.

"Can I help you?" asked d'Artagnan unable to shake a sense of foreboding.

"I'm sorry, sir," said the strange man, "but you remind me of someone ... Monsieur d'Artagnan." D'Artagnan frowned to himself, he didn't trust the man before him. "I knew your father."

"My father?"

"Indeed," said the stranger.

D'Artagnan's uneasiness grew. "How did you know my father?" he enquired. But before an answer was forthcoming, he heard heavy footsteps behind him. Whirling around he came face to face with the man who had been to see Treville earlier. Before d'Artagnan had time to react, Degrand struck him two hard blows to the head with the handle of his dagger. D'Artagnan fell to the ground, consciousness a fleeing companion.

"Quick Serge, get him up and away from here before anyone sees," Pierre commanded.


	3. The Search

Chapter three: The Search

The Musketeers' Garrison

Athos hadn't been in the garrison long the next morning when he realised d'Artagnan was late and that was odd. One thing d'Artagnan was good at, was being on time. "You haven't seen d'Artagnan today have you?" he asked Porthos and Aramis as they were getting ready to train against each other.

"No," replied Porthos. "Haven't seen him since last night."

"Has he not shown up?" asked Aramis looking concerned. "That's not like him at all."

"I know," agreed Athos "I'm going to check if Treville has sent him off somewhere again. If not I'll visit Monsieur Bonacieux to see if he's there."

Porthos nodded. "Let us know where he's got to."

Athos nodded and climbed the steps to see the Captain knocking firmly on the door before opening it

"Athos, what can I do for you?" asked Treville putting down the report he was reading. He was a little surprised to see Athos this early in the morning when Athos had his duties to do. Whatever was troubling the musketeer must be important.

"Have you seen d'Artagnan today at all?" asked Athos, watching Treville carefully

"Not today," Treville shook his head "Is he with Porthos or Aramis?"

"No, they haven't seen him either." worried Athos. "It's unlike him not to show up. I'm going to see if he's at the Bonacieux residence." Turning on his heel, Athos made his intentions clear – Treville may have wished to object, but the musketeer was going to search for their newest member, no matter what.. Treville watched him leave with a worried look on his face hoping that d'Artagnan had just overslept.

As Athos left Treville's office he came face to face with Porthos and Aramis who clearly couldn't concentrate on training. "The captain hasn't seen him," Athos informed them.

"So, to Bonacieux" announced Porthos. "If he's there, remind me to hit him won't you?"

"If he is there, I'll hit him first" said Athos

The Bonacieux Residence

"He didn't come back last night," said Constance in reply to the musketeers query about d'Artagnan's whereabouts. "I thought he was off doing another mission... what do you think's happened to him?"

Aramis paused, unwilling to worry Madam Bonacieux unduly. "We don't know, but we're going to find out," he reassured her.

"He wasn't drunk was he?" asked Monsieur Bonacieux. "I know what you musketeers can be like off duty, worse than sailors."

"No" said Athos at once "He only had two drinks and then he was off, said he owes you some rent."

"He always owes me some rent," said Monsieur Bonacieux looking at Constance briefly. The only reason he hadn't kicked d'Artagnan out already was because Constance had convinced him to give the lad another chance. "If he's not back by the end of the week," he continued, "someone else can have his room. The bill aren't going to pay themselves."

Aramis, Porthos and Athos looked at each other, "Thank you for your time, we will let you know when we find him," said Athos, bowing to Mme Bonacieux, before leaving.

"Well, I don't know where d'Artagnan could be," sighed Aramis.

"We've better tell the Captain," said Porthos.

The Musketeers' Garrison

"There is still no sign of d'Artagnan," reported Athos sombrely. "He didn't return to his lodgings last night, meaning something must have happened after he left the tavern."

"I've been thinking, maybe someone was watch us," suggested Aramis. "It doesn't seem like a random attack, there is no trace of d'Artagnan anywhere. We walked along the route d'Artagnan would have taken. There's nothing."

"Are you sure he was headed home?" asked Treville.

"Where else would he be?" asked Porthos "He doesn't know many people in Paris and only just knows his way around."

"Look again," ordered Treville. "Check all the side streets and alleys too."

"Something tells me he's not going to be there," stated Aramis darkly

In a cellar somewhere

When d'Artagnan awoke, the first thing he noticed was a splitting headache. He tried to run his hands over his head but found he couldn't - his hands were tied securely behind his back. He cautiously opened his eye. Once he had adjusted to the gloom he saw he was in a some kind of cellar. The darkness was alleviated by a little light was coming from a high up window. D'Artagnan tried to move only to find his legs were also tied together. He pulled at the rope, trying to break free but had no success. He could feel the ropes cutting into his newly healed skin, a reminder of Vadim bound him to barrels of dynamite not too long ago. After a brief attempt to free himself the pounding in his head forced him to give up. He could only hope his friends had realised he was missing and were coming to help him.

The door opened and d'Artagnan looked up to see who it was. It was the man who come to see Treville the day before. "I see that you are awake," he observed. "Took you long enough, I was beginning to worry that I might have hit you a little too hard."

"Who are you?" demanded d'Artagnan. "What do you want?"

"Oh, this has very little to do with you," said Pierre "I'm sorry about this, you were just convenient." Pierre shook his head sadly. "Please believe me," he continued, "this is nothing personal but I really can't run the risk of you trying to escape," and he swung his fist, hard, connecting with d'Artagnan's temple, knocking the younger man senseless once more.

The Musketeers' Garrison

Athos, Porthos and Aramis returned empty handed back to Treville. "We asked everyone and looked everywhere, no one has seen or hear anything of him." reported Aramis in frustration.

"I even went to the Court of Miracles," confessed Porthos. "Nothing"

"I think I know what's happened to him" admitted Treville slowly.

"What do you mean?" asked Athos sharply, looking his captain directly in the eye.

"You remember the man that came in here yesterday after I told you off for pranking d'Artagnan?" asked Treville, "the tall one with the funny limp." The musketeers nodded silently as Treville continued, "His name is Pierre Degrand, he was a soldier alongside me many years ago. Once we were like brothers... but he plotted against France and I found out. He begged me not to tell, but my duty was to France. I couldn't let him get away with it. He only just managed to escape from of France. He vowed one day he would get his revenge on me for foiling his plot and turning him in."

"What has this got to do with d'Artagnan?" asked Aramis, looking and sounding confused. "He's nobody to Pierre, he's not even a musketeer yet. He's just a farm boy from Gascony."

"No," sighed Treville. "He's more than that." He paused, trying to get both his thoughts and words in order. "I have to tell you something, but you can't tell anyone else. Especially D'Artagnan."

"What is it?" asked Athos.

Treville looked at the musketeers, relieved at last to be able to share his secret. "D'Artagnan is my nephew."


	4. Treville's Secret

Chapter four: Treville's Secret

The Musketeers' Garrison

There was a long moment of shocked silent. Exchanging confused looks Aramis, Athos and Porthos turned to their captain.

"What?" Aramis broke the heavy silence with the question they all longed to ask.

"You've got to be kidding me," muttered Porthos, shaking his head

"You kept that quiet," said Aramis

"I still don't see the connection with Pierre," interrupted Athos, recovering more quickly from the shock than the other two, "unless he knows about d'Artagnan."

Treville nodded, "He knew, because I told him years ago. When he was my best friend... when I thought I could trust him."

"But how come d'Artagnan has no idea you're his uncle?" asked Aramis. "He said all his family is dead."

Treville sighed "I once had a younger brother and sister, they were twins. My sister fell in love with Alexandre d'Artagnan who, at that point, was travelling... Alexandre d'Artagnan was brought up a Protestant, my family were strict Catholic, so as you might expect, this caused a few problems."

Aramis frowned. "I am sure d'Artagnan is a Catholic."

"He goes to church as often as Porthos," agreed Athos. "But Aramis is right, he's Catholic."

"I said his father was brought up a Protestant but converted to Catholism," said Treville. "Anyway, my father told my sister if she married Alexandre d'Artagnan he would disown her, she would never be welcome in the family again. If she married him, she was never to come back or ask for help again. She married him anyway and they both were disowned by their parents." Treville looked at the Musketeers. "Before d'Artagnan was born his parents came to talk to my brother and I. I had to tell my sister her twin brother had died two years earlier..." Treville paused sadly. "They told me that Alexandre's great uncle had died, leaving them some farm land in Gascony. And they were having a child. They didn't want the child to know both sets of grandparents had disowned them so they told him that Alexandre's parents had died and my parents had disowned them. They were not going to tell their child that I was its uncle." Treville looked down sadly, momentarily lost in his memories. "As I was drowning my sorrowing in a local tavern I told Pierre everything, and when he returned to Paris the other day, he recognized d'Artagnan because he looks a lot like my little brother."

"So Pierre knew enough to lead d'Artagnan into a trap," growled Porthos.

"I don't believe d'Artagnan will come to much harm," said Treville. "It's me Pierre wants, and knowing him he will send a message soon."

"We can't wait for a message that might or might not come," said Aramis.

"Aramis is right," agreed Athos. "It's unlikely Pierre is working by himself, he must have some help. And who ever is helping him knows that d'Artagnan is loosely connected with Protestants... he might be in serious trouble."

"Is there anywhere Pierre might be?" asked Porthos. "Any connections here – friends, family? Anything?"

"Pierre's cousin Serge still lives in Paris," realised Treville after a few moments thought. "He might have heard from him. He's an ex Red Guard, you need to tread carefully. He might not want to land Pierre into any trouble."

Treville watched his finest Musketeers as they passed a look between them, an unspoken promise to save their young friend. Just as they nodded, their own signal to leave, Treville spoke again.

"Wait," he said. "You have to promise me that you won't tell d'Artagnan anything I just told you."

"I can't promise you that," said Athos, slightly reluctantly. "If Pierre has told d'Artagnan I am not going to lie to him, he's been lied to enough already."

With a curt nod to Treville, Athos, Porthos and Aramis were on their way too see Serge.


	5. Serge

Chapter Five: Serge

In a cellar – location unknown

D'Artagnan was brutally brought back to consciousness by a bucket of freezing water being thrown over his head. His eyes snapped open and he quickly surmised he was still lying on the cellar floor with his hands tied uncomfortably behind his back. He blinked a few times, trying to remember what had happened. Someone slapped his cheek a few times.

"Come on, wake up. I haven't got all day."

D'Artagnan's eyes focused on the man who knocked him out.

"Who... are you?" asked d'Artagnan groggily, wishing his head would stop hurting for a moment so he could think.

"Oh that's right, we were never formally introduced. My name is Pierre." He bowed, mockingly before straightening up and looking down on the young man at his feet. "I want to talk to you about Captain Treville."

"What?" asked d'Artagnan, not really following what Pierre was saying. Pierre shook his head and retrieved another bucket of cold water which he proceeded to pour over d'Artagnan again. D'Artagnan coughed and spat out some water.

"Are you waking up yet, or do you need a little more persuasion?" asked Pierre, sounding frustrated.

D'Artagnan looked darkly at his adversary. "There is nothing you could persuade me to do," retorted d'Artagnan.

Pierre smiled "You're a stubborn one aren't you, just like your mother when she went off to marry a Protestant."

Degrand's statement left d'Artagnan shocked and confused. He had never told anyone his father was brought up Protestant. He hadn't even shared his secret with Athos, Aramis or Porthos despite the fact he knew they would be opened minded about it. "How...?"

"How did I know?" interrupted Pierre, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was inflicting. "Treville told me, and how did Treville know? Well, he knew your parents. Bet he didn't tell you that did he?" Pierre smiled nasily at d'Artagnan as the youngster tried to make sense of what he was saying.

"What?" asked d'Artagnan finally. "You're lying."

"Lying am I?" Degrand raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side, glaring at d'Artagnan through cold eyes. D'Artagnan bit back a groan as Degrand caught him twice in the ribs with his good leg. "Does that feel like lying? I'll tell you what," and he leaned in confidentially as though about to tell d'Artagnan a closely guarded secret. "If you see Treville again, ask him." Pierre laughed manically. "Although I doubt you will see him again. I am going to kill him like the dog he is." Pierre looked at d'Artagnan "So tell me boy, do you trust him? Trust him to make the right decision, trust him with your life?"

"Yes" replied d'Artagnan, certainty lacing his words. "Yes, I do."

"More fool you," said Pierre "He lies more than I do. I will get my revenge on him. If you're lucky I might spare your life... but if my plan fails it will be you who dies." With that Pierre walked away, turning back to d'Artagnan when he reached the doorway. "My friend Serge might drop in, he's not a fan of Protestants, or Musketeers, even those in training." With that Pierre walked away without another word. As d'Artagnan listened to the bolt slide home, he wished he didn't feel so helpless. If his head would stop hurting for just a minute for him to think, then maybe he could work out a way to get himself out and soon.

Serge's House

"Of all the things the Captain could say," said Porthos as they walked down the street towards Serge's house, "that wasn't even on my list."

Aramis nodded. "It was a shock," he paused. "Do you think we should tell d'Artagnan? I know Treville told us not too but... it doesn't seem right, that he doesn't know."

"I imagine Degrand will tell him," said Athos, gloomily. "If he has told then I am not going to lie to him, and say it's not true."

"And what if Pierre hasn't told him?" asked Porthos.

"Well that's up to Treville, isn't it?" said Athos stopping at Serge' door. Dropping the subject, Athos knocked on Serge's door a few times, but there was no answer. "Well it looks like he's not here." He peered though a small window. "Looks empty," he reported back to his friends.

"So what now?" asked Porthos.

"Are you looking for Serge?" asked a large lady walking past them, carrying some bread. "He hasn't been in for a few days now."

"Do you know were he's gone?" asked Aramis hopefully, giving the woman his most charming smile.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "Last time I saw him, he was walking with a older man."

The musketeers looked at each other. "What did the older man look like?" asked Athos.

The lady frowned. "He was tall, walked with a limp... I can't tell you anymore than that as it was quite late... Serge not in any trouble is he? I know he can be a little rude about Musketeers but he was once a Red Guard. I know how much you lot fight."

"We just wanted to speak to him about a case, Mademoiselle. Thank you for your help." said Athos. The lady nodded and disappeared into the nearest house.

"So it looks like Serge is working with Pierre," worried Porthos, looking around to make sure no one was nearby and eavesdropping on their conversation.

"And if Serge used to be a Red Guard, he's not going be happy about a Protestant and Catholic having a child together, even if the Protestant had converted." mused Aramis. "You know what they do to Protestants."

"So d'Artagnan might be in more trouble than we thought," said Athos, a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "If Serge goes to the cardinal…" He left the thought unfinished.

"We'd better find Serge and Pierre before anything happens," said Porthos. "And just pray that d'Artagnan is alright."

In a cellar 

D'Artagnan couldn't think of anything better to do than try to break free of the ropes. One thing was for sure, whoever tied him up knew how to tie ropes better than Vadim. D'Artagnan knew his wrists were bleeding and they hurt badly but he kept trying to break free. After another five minutes d'Artagnan stopped breathing hard, listening to the silence around him. That was the worst thing, the silence. He could feel it pressing in on him. No footsteps, no voices, just his own breathing. The silence was driving d'Artagnan crazy. Then he heard footsteps and the door opened. D'Artagnan forced himself to sit up, expecting to see Pierre only to see another man.

"Who are you?" asked d'Artagnan, warily.

"My name is Serge," said the man. "Pierre may have mentioned me? He told me I could have a little fun with you, but not to kill you. That's a shame. Two things I hate are Protestants and Musketeers."

"It's a good thing I'm not a Protestant or a Musketeer then," retorted d'Artagnan more forcefully than he felt.

Serge leaned forward, face in d'Artagnan's personal space. "You're the son of a Protestant and you're close to the Musketeers." He prodded d'Artagnan in the chest, laughing when the younger man flinched involuntarily. Spurred on by the reaction he had got, he pushed a little harder, forcing d'Artagnan to the ground, landing hard on his bound arms. Serge straightened up and looked down at his prisoner with disdain. "You're hardly worth the effort," he spat, raising his arm and delivering two or three swift blows to d'Artagnan's face.

"It could be worse," moaned d'Artagnan through the pain, wondering why he couldn't stop goading the man. "I could look like you!" He wasn't really surprised by Serge's reaction – another blow to the face and several hard kicks to his ribs. "If you... want to...fight... untie me... it'll be...more fun," taunted d'Artagnan, hoping Serge would fall for his trick, giving him a change to escape though the cellar door that Serge had left open.

Unfortunately Serge was clever than he looked. "Nice try" he laughed. "Under different circumstances I would have liked you." Serge drew his sword and pointed it at d'Artagnan. "A message has been sent to Treville. If he follows the instructions, then you will leave here alive, but if he doesn't, you die here." Serge waved his sword around carelessly, catching d'Artagnan's upper right arm, drawing blood. "And I'll be the one who gets to kill you."

"You're going to kill me anyway," said d'Artagnan, keeping his voice calm, he wasn't going to show fear.

Serge laughed "You're right, no matter what happens I will kill you – I tell you something Protestant, I will enjoy it."


	6. One Step Closer

Chapter Six: One Step Closer

The Musketeers' Garrison

The three musketeers finished telling tell Treville about their visit to Serge's house, conveying their fears that the former Red Guard would tell the Cardinal the truth about d'Artagnan. It was one thing being the captain's nephew, but being directly linked to a Protestant was another thing all together.

"I agree that this is much bigger than we first thought," agreed Treville gravely.

"It's been almost a day since d'Artagnan disappeared," said Aramis. "We're still no closer to finding him." His words struck home with his companions – they were no nearer to finding their missing friend.

"We might be in luck," said Treville, holding up a letter for his men to see. "The stable boy found it. It's from Pierre."

"What does it say?" Athos demanded.

"It says to meet him where I betrayed him nineteen years ago," Treville informed them. "To go alone tomorrow at noon. If anyone comes with me, d'Artagnan dies and if any musketeers are found in the area, d'Artagnan dies."

"Where is he talking about?" asked Porthos.

"Just outside Paris." Treville looked down at the letter, even though he had read it often enough for the words to be seared into his memory. "Near the old mill..."

"That's where d'Artagnan must be," determined Athos immediately, everything making sense. "They could see us coming a mile away from the mill."

"I think it's time for me to face Pierre," announced Treville. "Alone."

The response from the Musketeers was immediate and unanimous. "No" they protested, loudly and forcefully.

"You'll be killed for sure," said Aramis.

"Aramis is right," Porthos agreed. "What good would you be dead? If you die, Pierre wins."

Treville hit the table in frustration. Part of him felt proud of his men's unquestioning loyalty, yet another part wished they could understand his torment. "I watched my father disown his only daughter and didn't do anything. I can't let d'Artagnan die. I was the one who told Pierre about him, I am the reason he is in this mess, and if he is killed or hurt it'll be my fault."

"Do you think d'Artagnan would wish to have your life on his conscience, any more than you his?. " said Athos, thinking hard. "He would never recover from the guilt. We have to come with a plan and quickly."

The Bonacieux House

As soon as Constance opened the door she was asking question.s "Have you found him? Is he hurt? Can I see him?"

Porthos held up his hands, placating the distraught woman before him. "I'm sorry, Madame," he murmured, shaking his head sadly. "It seems someone has a grudge against Captain Treville. He has taken d'Artagnan hostage. We don't know if he's hurt or not, but we are sure he is still alive."

"Can you save him?" asked Constance, hopefully.

"We are doing everything we can," said Athos. "But we might need some help."

"What?" asked Constance without a second thought. "What can I do?"

Aramis smiled. It was as clear as day that Constance and d'Artagnan loved each other, the only drawback was the small matter of Constance's marriage. "Are you sure you are willing to help?" he said already knowing the answer. "It will not be without risk."

"When has anything to do with d'Artagnan been risk free?" laughed Constance sadly. "Just tell me what to do."

In a cellar somewhere

D'Artagnan shivered. The cellar was damp and cold and he could feel the effects of the cold water settling in his bones. He knew it was only a matter of time before his wounded wrists became infected and could picture Aramis' face at the prospect of patching them up yet again. At least the cut to his upper arm had stop bleeding. The slightest movement hurt his ribs but as far as he could tell none were broken.

D'Artagnan tried again to break from the ropes, flashbacks to Vadim and barrels of gunpowder always hovering on the edge of his thoughts. Hearing the unmistakable creaking of the door's hinges, d'Artagnan looked up to see who was entering the cellar. To his surprise, Pierre and Serge were together.

"How can I help you?" asked d'Artagnan with mock politeness, earning him another kick to his already damaged ribs.

"You just don't know when to shut up, do you?" asked Serge, although d'Artagnan suspected he wasn't expecting a reply.

"Serge, what did I tell you?" asked Pierre, sharply.

"Not to kill him," replied Serge, sounding like a toddler deprived of his favourite game. He glared at d'Artagnan as though he could kill him by the force of his stare. "Not yet, anyway," he added hopefully.

"What do you want?" demanded d'Artagnan, not falling for the mind games Serge and Pierre were playing. He was under no false illusions as to his fate.

"We've got a few hours to kill before Treville gets here," said Pierre, leaning back against a damp wall, studying his captive contentedly. "_If_ he gets here. So, we were wondering how long would it take to make a musketeer scream?"

"Really?" nodded d'Artagnan with fake surprise, hiding any fear he was feeling deep down. Answering them back was the only way he could fight them. They may have incapacitated his limbs but his mind and tongue were as sharp as ever and he couldn't allow himself to do nothing. "You've got too much free time," he mocked. "Try being a farmer. You never know, it might be good for you."

A slow, callous smile spread across Pierre's face as he nodded at Serge. Serge launced himself at d'Artagnan, knocking the defenceless man into a wall. Pain shot up d'Artagnan's arms, matched only by the agony in the back of his head. Somewhere d'Artagnan knew he had taken one knock too many and it was only adrenalin keeping him going at the moment. A little voice in his head was telling him he wasn't likely to be walking away from this but he wasn't going down without a fight. Acting purely on instinct with no real plan, he managed to twist and with his bound feet he pushed out with all his might. To his amazement and relief, Serge fell to the floor.

Furiously rolling over to his side, Serge got back on his feet and drew his sword. Pointing the blade at d'Artagnan he growled, "I'm going to kill you right here and now, Protestant."

Before Serge could make good on his word, Pierre stepped in.

"Stop!" he ordered, placing a hand on Serge's shoulder. "You can't kill him yet. Not till Treville is dead."

"I can't wait that long." spat Serge in frustration.

"Be patient," counselled Pierre as he studied at d'Artagnan. "We still need him alive."

Serge shook his head in disgust. He lowered the blade slightly, waiting until Degrand had turned away, heading back to the door. Looking back at d'Artagnan, he smiled cruelly. "Your time will come," he promised and lay his blade on the side of the young man's face. Sliding it down, drawing blood, he nodded in satisfaction. D'Artagnan closed his eyes, resigned to the fact he was about to inherit another set of scars, when there was a knock at a door.

"Who is that at this time of night?" asked Serge, pulling his sword away, nicking the soft skin at the base of d'Artagnan's throat.

Pierre paused, looking confused. "I don't know," he admitted. "Treville won't knock and nobody else knows we're here." He motioned at the fallen prisoner. "Make sure he doesn't interrupt us, Serge," he commanded.

Serge nodded, clearly relishing the opportunity given to him to inflict as much pain as possible. He spun his sword around in his hand, bringing the hilt down on the side of d'Artagnan's head, knocking him out cold. Satified with his work, he nodded at Pierre and made his way out of the cellar.

Waiting until he was alone with d'Artagnan, Pierre pulled his dagger out and held it to d'Artagnan's thoat, contemplating his unexpected visitor. It couldn't be musketeers, He had been more than clear to Treville about the consequences of not following his instructions. But, he reflected, a lot had changed in nineteen years, maybe Treville didn't care about family as much as he used to. Either way, he decided as he watched d'Artagnan's chest rise and fall gently as he breathed, he wasn't about to take any chances.

Outside the Mill

As Constance knocked on the door of the mill, she shivered a little in the evening chill. Athos stood slightly behind her in a simple disguise. No one would recognize him as a musketeer, just a peasant farmer.

The door swung open abruptly. "What?" asked the man, rudely.

"Good day," began Constance, attempting to use a county accent. "My husband and I are looking for work..."

"There's no work here for you." retorted the man, slamming the door in her face.

Constance turned to Athos raising her eyebrows in an unspoken question.

"What's wrong with your voice?" he asked.

"I was trying to do a Gascon accent," said Constance, defensively. "I thought it might help."

"That sounded more Spanish to me" Athos muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "So, how many are in there?" he asked.

"I saw no one else" s,aid Constance. "But there were two mugs on the table inside, so he's not alone but not lots of people."

Athos nodded, this was good news, if there were only two men that would make things a whole lot easier. "Any sign of d'Artagnan? Any other sounds?"

"No, nothing" said Constance "It was all quiet."

"That could mean a couple of things," Athos mused. "Either d'Artagnan isn't here or he's not able to make a noise." He refused to mention that there might be a more deadly reason for d'Artagnan's silence. He wouldn't contemplate d'Artagnan being dead.

"So what now?" asked Constance "Will you go in there now?"

"No," said Athos "We need to come up with a plan. You head back home, we will update you with any news." He released a heavy sigh and gazed up at the moon. "Tomorrow," he declared, "tomorrow we will rescue d'Artagnan."


	7. Resuer Mission

Chapter Seven: Rescue Mission

The Musketeers' Garrison

"Okay, so do you know the plan?" asked Athos, satisfied when the others nodded.

"We know all three plans," muttered Porthos to himself. "Back to front."

"Inside and out," added Aramis

"Are you sure there are only two of them?" asked Treville for the thousandth time. "I find it hard to believe Pierre wouldn't have invested in more men."

Athos looked at Treville. "I'm as sure as I can be. I watched the house for some time after I sent Mme. Bonacieux home. I saw nobody come or go. Maybe Degrand want to be quiet as possible".

Treville nodded, accepting Athos' judgement. Of all his men, he would trust these three with his life. "It's late," he noted. "Get some sleep, we've got a busy day tomorrow."

The Mill – Outside Paris

At noon the next day Treville walked up to the Mill where Pierre was waiting. Wasting no time with formalities he looked Pierre straight in the eye. "Where is d'Artagnan?" he demanded, hoping the boy was still alive.

"Last time I checked he was still breathing," said Pierre coldly. "But he's of little importance to me. All I want is you."

"Here I am," Treville raised his arms, showing Degrand his empty hands. "You don't need d'Artagnan any more, let him go."

"Oh no," laughed Pierre, shaking his head. "I'm not letting him go so easily. We'll duel, like gentleman... to the death. If you win, you'll find him in the Mill. My cousin is with him. He may not wish to let d'Artagnan go, though. He seems to have developed a certain dislike for the boy. If you are lucky enough to persuade Serge to release him, your nephew will leave alive."

"You never were very good at keeping your word, were you?" spat Treville, drawing his sword. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Porthos and Aramis sneaking into the mill. Athos was subtly taking up his position behind Degrand. Treville felt a satisfied smile reach his face as he struck the en guarde position. "Good thing we have a back up plan," he told Pierre.

Pierre spun round to see Athos and turned back to Treville. "Two against one? You really are a coward, aren't you, Treville."

"No." interjected Athos. "If you beat Treville then you fight me." said Athos "After all, we're gentleman are we not? This seems no different to your proposal with your cousin."

"I now understand Serge's hatred of Musketeers. To think, I was once one of you." Pierre reflected. "He will see you from the window and he will kill your young friend."

Athos laughed. "He'll be too busy for that. Do you really think it's just the two of us?"

Pierre drew his sword and looked at Treville. "I'm going to kill you, old friend," he swore and lunged forward, blade narrowly missing Treville's upper torso.

Athos watched warily, hand on the hilt of his own sword, ready to intervene if necessary. The fight, however, was heavily one sided. Pierre was fighting out of rage, making lots of rookie mistakes. His old injury was also slowing him down. Treville, on the other hand, had the discipline and cool headedness instilled in him over decades as a trained and talented Musketeer.

Meanwhile, inside the mill, Serge had been taken unawares by the remaining two Musketeers., Unlike Pierre, he was faster and making fewer mistakes against his own battle with Aramis. The Musketeer wasn't worried, though. The former Red Guard, whilst still able bodied and quick witted, had age against him and, Aramis, decided, was decidedly out of practice. Although Serge managed to land a few painful blows against the Musketeer, which would leave, at the least some, colourful bruising in its wake, Aramis had a reason other than his own life to win this particular fight.

As Aramis was busy distracting Serge, Porthos was kicking open doors in his search for d'Artagnan. When he got to the cellar door he hesitated to go down the stairs. This was the last door and in his heart he knew this must be where his friend was. He knew he needed to go down there, but he also knew he didn't want to face what might be waiting for him. Taking himself firmly in hand, he took his dagger in one hand as a precaution against unexpected company and took the first step determinedly.

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom of the cellar he spotted d'Artagnan against the wall where Serge had left him. He rushed over to him and gently shook his shoulder. "Hey.. hey, d'Artagnan. Wake up!"

D'Artagnan groaned a little. Porthos never thought the sound of a comrade in pain could sound so sweet – it meant d'Artagnan was alive. He tapped d'Artagnan gently round the face, frowning when he felt the heat coming from him. Porthos swore to himself then swiftly cut d'Artagnan arms and feet free from their bonds before trying once more to rouse the unconscious d'Artagnan. "

D'Artagnan prised his eyes open and gazed vacantly around him. Porthos could instantly that he had a concussion as well as a fever.

"Hey" said Porthos, relief mixing with concern. "I'm going to get you out of here, alright? Just stay awake... awake."

D'Artagnan screwed his face up, looking up at Porthos before recognition dawned and he nodded briefly in understanding. Porthos relaxed slightly and allowed himself time to sweep his eyes over the youngster's body, looking for any obvious injuries. The boy's ruined wrists immediately caught his attention, stirring rage within Porthos' chest. He looked up at d'Artagnan and noticed he had let his eyes slip closed again. He gently lifted the hem of d'Artagnan's shirt and couldn't help the sharp intake of breath as he surveyed the bruising and clearly broken ribs. Letting the shirt fall back, he could do nothing about it here, he ran his hands gently over d'Artagnan's skull. It was clear he had taken a few knocks to the head. The head wounds worried Porthos. Aramis may have been their medical expert, but Porthos knew how dangerous head injuries could be.

"Hey, talk to me," murmered Porthos gently, tapping d'Artagnan cheeks. "D'Artagnan?"

"What?" mumbled d'Artagnan, clearly confused.

"Hey, you're alright. We're going to get you out of here," said Porthos. "Just stay awake."

Porthos gently pulled d'Artagnan's arm round his shoulder and lifted him to his feet. With one arm around d'Artagnan, supporting him, the duo started to make the uneasy climb up the steps out of the cellar.

Outside the mill Treville had managed to knock Pierre to the ground. Standing above him with his sword resting at the base of Degrand's throat, Treville looked down at his fallen opponent. "Go," he ordered, unable to kill his former friend. "Go and never come back."

"Why don't you kill me, Treville?" hissed Pierre. "I know you want to. KILL ME! DON'T JUST STAND THERE! KILL ME!"

Treville looked at Pierre and shook his head sadly. "I'm not going to kill you, you were once like a brother to me. Just... just go, I never want to see you again." Dropping his sword arm loosely to his side, Treville turned his back on Pierre. Degrand, however, was somehow quickly on his feet with his sword ready to attack Treville. Somehow, Athos had known this would happen and he was ready to defend his captain. He was faster than Pierre and without a second thought, he ran his blade through Pierre's torso. Degrand fell to the ground, twitching and gurgling before falling into a final silence. Treville turn around and looked in shock at the body before him. He then looked at Athos, not saying anything, he didn't need to. Athos knew Treville well enough that he was silently thanking him for saving his life, but also a bit angry for killing him.

"I going to see how the others are doing" said Athos, giving Treville a small bow before walking into the Mill.

The scene that greeted him as he entered did not surprise him. Aramis, battered and bruised but still taunting, had driven Serge into a corner. As he turned to see Athos enter, Serge pushed off the wall, dagger in hand, to try one last time to win the fight. Aramis, however, had his own dagger in his hand and in response to a slight nod from Athos, he spun around and plunged it into his attacker's chest. Serge looked down at the protruding handle and back up at Aramis, surprise evident on his face as he slid to the ground, clutching desperately at his chest.

Aramis looked at Athos. "Pierre?" he asked, although he could already guess the answer.

"Dead," said Athos. "Porthos?"

"Looking for D'Artagnan," replied Aramis. "HEY, PORTHOS!" he called.

"Give me a hand will you?" came Porthos' voice from behind the door near Aramis. Aramis turned to see Porthos half carrying ,half dragging D'Artagnan and rushed to Porthos' aid. "He's alive," said Porthos, "but he's got a fever and a concussion."

"That's not a good mix, he has to stay awake," said Aramis at once, helping Porthos with d'Artagnan.

"Hey, Charlie- boy, stay awake." Aramis knew that d'Artagnan hated his first name, Charles, and thought it would be the best way to get a response from the boy.

"Name's d'Art…" mumbled d'Artagnan weakly.

"Sure thing," said Aramis "What hurts?"

"...head..." said d'Artagnan after a long pause. "Nice hat...I want a hat..."

"Delirious" confirmed Aramis to the others

The three Musketeers and d'Artagnan stepped outside. Treville looked at them, relief mixed with worry when he saw the state of his youngest recruit. "How is he?"

"Delirious with a head injury, and the possibility of broken ribs," said Athos, summing up what Porthos had said. "He can't travel back to Paris like this, it's too far."

"There's an inn about a mile that way," said Porthos, pointing to the east. "We should make our way there. There'll be a bed , food and clean water."

"You three take him there," ordered Treville. "I have to head to the garrison, send word as soon as you can." The musketeers nodded, waiting for Treville to give them leave to be on their way. Treville looked one more time at d'Artagnan before seeming to reach a decision in his head.

"This is my fault," he stated, holding up a hand to ward off any protests from his men. "Anything he needs, I will personally pay for." He looked seriously at Athos. "I mean it. Anything at all."

Athos nodded solemnly, silently ordering Aramis and Porthos to wait while he fetched their horses. Taking a look at his friends and comrades he knew they were all thinking the same thing – all hoping that d'Artagnan's recovery would be quick and complete.


	8. Recovery

Chapter Eight: Recovery

The Traveller's Inn

Once they got to the inn, they were taken into one of the rooms. They lay d'Artagnan on the hard bed, thankful that it was, at least, clean. D'Artagnan hadn't said anything since leaving the mill.

Aramis moved immediately into action. "Athos, get some clean water. The cuts need cleaning out." Athos was out of the room without another word. "Porthos, keep him awake, I don't care how you do it." Porthos moved so he was nearer d'Artagnan's head and tapped his good cheek, repeating the boy's name in a bid to keep him alert. Aramis got his dagger and cut d'Artagnan's shirt off.

"It look worse here," said Porthos, knowing it would hurt for a few weeks.

"There are at least two broken ribs," said Aramis, "with no internal damage. That's good, that's very good." Aramis knew what broken ribs could do and was glad his friend was less injured than the Musketeers had first worried. Aramis was bandaging d'Artagnan's ribs when Athos come rushing back with two buckets of water. "Keep him cool, his fever is sky high at the moment," Aramis directed. Athos nodded, placing a rag into the water and laying it gently on d'Artagnan's forehead. D'Artagnan instinctively moved his right arm to try to knock it off but couldn't muster enough strength to mange it. It was clear to his friends that d'Artagnan arms hurt. With his free hand, Athos gently held d'Artagnan's arm down, carefully avoiding his injuries.

"His wrists are a mess," Athos observed somberly.

"Again," pointed out Porthos, gloomily.

Aramis looked at d'Artagnan's left wrist and started to tenderly clean away the blood. D'Artagnan, too confused and disorientated to know what was happening, tried to break away. Porthos and Athos acted quickly, holding him still.

"Hey, d'Artagnan, listen to me. You need to keep still," Athos implored.

Aramis finished cleaning out the wounds and bandaged one wrist up. He moved around the bed to look at the other one.

"You're very lucky . You don't need stitches but this will scar." Aramis directed his words to d'Artagnan despite knowing the young man was still too confused to understand. "But your arms are bruised and might be a bit stiff for a while," he continued, soothingly as he cleaned d'Artagnan's right wrist.

"That's the least of our worries," said Porthos, replacing the wet rag. "It's his head I'm worried about."

"Me too," admitted Aramis tying up the bandage on d'Artagnan's right wrist before moving on to cleaning the cut to the side of d'Artagnan face. He then looked into d'Artagnan's pupils to see if they looked any better. "We have to keep him awake a bit longer..."

"How much longer?" asked Athos.

"I don't know," said Aramis. "We'll keep checking for another 12 hours or so."

Porthos got up. "It looks like we will be here for a while. I'll head back and update Treville and bring some supplies."

The Musketeers' Garrison

Porthos walked in to Treville's office, knowing the Captain was waiting for news.

"How is he?" asked Treville at once.

"Aramis is doing what he can," Porthos told him, "but he took quite a few knocks to the head."

Treville nodded. "Has he said anything?"

"Not since we got him out of the mill," said Porthos. "I need to get back to the others, we'll send word as soon as there's anything to say."

The Travellers' Inn

After struggling to keep d'Artagnan awake for a while, Aramis said they could allow him to sleep for half an hour at a time, then wake him up and ensure he drank something.

Sleep was both a blessing and a curse. Sleep gave the musketeers time to eat something and get a breath of fresh air. But sleep led to feverish dreams and they would have to pin d'Artagnan down in case he damaged his ribs any more.

After two days of this, the musketeers were worn out. D'Artagnan was yet to show any sign he recognized them. But the fever had now broken although his temperature was still high.

Aramis woke d'Artagnan up again. "Hey wake up" he encouraged his patient, persuading him to drink as much as he could without being sick. Aramis then asked d'Artagnan a couple of questions to see if he could answer them. D'Artagnan had, so far, been unable to answer any of the questions.

"What's your name?" quizzed Aramis.

There was a pause, and Aramis was sure d'Artagnan had fallen back to sleep again until he whispered, "D'Artagnan." The three musketeers smiled, it was the first coherent thing they had heard d'Artagnan say in days.

"What was your father's name?" asked Aramis, tapping d'Artagnan cheek to keep the boy focussed.

"D'Artagnan" mumbled d'Artagnan, frowning as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Close enough for now," said Aramis, allowing himself a brief smile. "What's my name?"

"Prat," mumbled d'Artagnan, falling back to sleep.

Athos looked at Aramis. "That was a good sign, right?" he asked hopefully.

"It's a step in the right direction" said Aramis. "He still got a way to go though."

"You should get some sleep," said Porthos to Aramis. "We'll watch d'Artagnan". Aramis nodded gratefully. Now that his patient was truly on the road to recovery he could feel the bone deep fatigue settling in. He headed to the room next door, far enough to finally get some much needed sleep but close enough in case Porthos or Athos needed him.

"He's going to be okay," said Porthos, looking fondly at the sleeping d'Artagnan. "He's too stubborn for his own good." Porthos paused. "Do you think he knows?"

Athos shrugged "I have no idea. I guess when he is in the right frame of mind, we will find out."

But it was time to wake d'Artagnan up again. Athos shook his shoulder firmly. "D'Artagnan. Come on, wake up... Charles."

"I... don't... feed... chickens... yet.." mumbled D'Artagnan, his confused words bringing a smile to both Athos and Porthos.

"I could eat a chicken right now," joked Porthos. "At least he's saying more than one word."

Athos tapped d'Artagnan's cheek "Wake up," he ordered. D'Artagnan's eyes snapped open, a subconscious response to the authority in Athos' voice.

"What?" he said, sounding half dazed.

"What's your name?" asked Athos silently praying that d'Artagnan would answer all three questions correctly.

"D'Artagnan," sighed d'Artagnan, clearly tiring of this routine.

"What's your father's name?" asked Athos

There was a slight pause. "Alexandre d'Artagnan." D'Artagnan nodded in satisfaction that he'd remembered correctly.

"What's my name?" asked Athos.

D'Artagnan looked at Athos for a few moments. "Athos?" Athos and Porthos let out a sign of relief. D'Artagnan's eyes skittered around the room, confusion back in his face. "What... where...how... why..."

Athos saw d'Artagnan needed more sleep. "Go back to sleep, we'll tell you later, I promise." Once d'Artagnan had fallen asleep again, Athos grinned at Porthos. "I think he's going to be okay."


	9. Truths and Half Truths

Chapter Nine: Truths and Half Truths

The Traveller's inn

D'Artagnan sat in a chair and rubbed the cut on the side of his face. Aramis slapped his hand away again. "I told you to leave it alone," he berated the young man.

"It's going to scar, right?" asked D'Artagnan even though he already knew the answer.

"Not as badly as your wrists," said Aramis pointing to d'Artagnan's still bandaged wrists. "Anyway, women loves scars, I tell you that for a fact."

Noticing d'Artagnan's unhappy look, Porthos said, "You just have to grow a beard to hide it" D'Artagnan rolled his eyes as Porthos and Aramis laughed.

"Very funny," huffed d'Artagnan.

"He's all grumpy," teased Aramis with a big grin on his face. "He must be feeling better... right Charlie – boy?"

"Stop calling me that" sulked D'Artagnan, getting annoyed. He had been stuck with Porthos and Aramis for a couple of hours, since Athos had gone back to Paris. Porthos and Aramis took the opportunity to wind d'Artagnan up as much as possible. "It's d'Artagnan," he added pointlessly. Porthos and Aramis laughed again, teasing d'Artagnan was so easy and so fun.

"I need to change the bandaging on you wrists and check your ribs," said Aramis when he stopped laughing. "Then it's back to Paris, you know Madam Bonacieux is anxious to see you..."

"... wanted to come all the way out here against her husbands wishes..." added Porthos.

"...but we told her that we would take good care of you," continued Aramis, smiling at the annoyed look on d'Artagnan's face. "And get you back to her in one piece..."

"...after we've taken you to the garrison to report to Treville." said Porthos "He wishes to talk to you since you're back on your feet and not so delirious."

The Musketeers' Garrison

D'Artagnan stood in Treville office with the three musketeers behind him. He was still pale and he had one arm wrapped around his ribs. They were still very sore, and the journey back to Paris hadn't helped. D'Artagnan gave an account of what he remembered although it wasn't a lot.

"Serge really hated me," said D'Artagnan. "Doesn't like Musketeers or something," he guessed

"He was former Red Guard," explained Athos from behind him. D'Artagnan turned his head in surprise. "Didn't you know?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "No," he said. "All I know is he would have killed me if Pierre hadn't stopped him."

Treville paused for a moment, thinking about his old friend. He'd saved d'Artagnan's life (even if he didn't do it from the kindness of his heart). "Did Pierre tell you anything?" asked Treville. Deep down he knew if Pierre had told d'Artagnan, the boy would have already said something if he had even believed Pierre.

"Not much," replied d'Artagnan after a little pause, as he tried to remember what had happened. "Said I was a fool to trust you, said you lie more than he does." He paused, thinking of Degrand's face when he had said that. "What did he mean?"

"He was angry. He would have said anything to wind you up," Treville told him, silently begging the three other men to hold their peace.

"He knew information, about my parents," continued d'Artagnan. "He said you knew them?"

Porthos and Aramis looked at each other. So d'Artagnan didn't know about being the Captain's nephew, but it was clear d'Artagnan had questions how his parent knew Treville, and was not going to leave without some kind of answer. Athos just looked at Treville, wondering what he was going to tell the boy.

"I knew your mother well once, we were quite close," admitted Treville, not looking in d'Artagnan eyes. "Not in that way" he added hastily as d'Artagnan opened him mouth to speak "She was like a sister to me."

"Like?" said Porthos so quietly only Athos and Aramis heard him. Porthos' look told them he didn't want to lie to d'Artagnan. After all, he believed that everyone should know who their families were and where they came from.

"She never mentioned you, or Paris," challenged d'Artagnan, clearly not satisfied with Treville's answer.

"Well, things became a little bitter sweet after she was disowned," said Treville.

D'Artagnan looked down. It was clear that he was still angry about what had happened to his mother. "So you know why she was disowned?"

"I am guessing you are referring to the fact your father was a Protestant at the time when they first met," said Treville, calmly.

D'Artagnan glared at Treville then turned to look at the others with a wary look on his face.

"We know," said Aramis, quickly. "Don't worry, we're not going to tell anyone."

D'Artagnan nodded his gratitude and turned back to the captain. He looked at Treville for a moment before asking, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"It never came up," said Treville. "I told Pierre when we were closer than brothers, he used that information to to trick you and lead me into a trap," explained Treville as he looked at his nephew. "You need some rest, I don't want to see you till your ribs are better," he ordered, gently.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes to himself, which reminded Treville of his sister. "Fine, if I die of boredom I am going to hunt all of you," he sighed.

"Cheerful thoughts," said Aramis. "Porthos and I will taken him back."

"I can walk back myself," said D'Artagnan, stubbornly. The musketeers grinned a bit - it was good to have d'Artagnan back, as stubborn as ever.

"You have a habit of getting into trouble," said Aramis. "And I don't want to face Madame Bonacieux if we let you go by yourself. She was very worried about you, you know."

Once d'Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis were gone Athos waited until he was sure they were out of ear shot. He opened his mouth to speak but Treville got there first.

"I didn't lie to him," said Treville. "I just didn't tell him the truth."

"That's almost as bad," accused Athos. "One thing I learnt is that the truth has a way of coming out. And d'Artagnan isn't going to take kindly when he finds out. You're not going to be the only one in the firing line - me, Porthos and Aramis will be too when he finds out we didn't tell him." Athos paused, "Are you sure you did the right thing, won't someone else realise he's your nephew?"

"My father wasn't going to tell people he disowned her for marrying Alexandre d'Artagnan," said Treville. "He told people my sister has refused an arranged marriage and run away with a stranger with no name." Treville paused, "D'Artagnan is a fine young man without my involvement. It was also my sister's wish for d'Artagnan not to know."

"I hope you know what you are doing," said Athos before leaving the room.

The Bonacieux house

Constance had hugged d'Artagnan as soon as he walked inside the house. "Och, mind the ribs will you."

"I'm so sorry, I thought you were, I thought you ... dead," said Constance, trying to hold back tears as she looked at the the cut on the side of d'Artagnan's face.

"It will take more than that to kill me," laughed d'Artagnan weakly. "Don't worry, it could have been a lot worse."

"I hate to say it, but he's right," agreed Porthos.

"But still you can't do any training, fighting or moving heavy loads ..." Aramis started to list the medical conditions he had imposed on the injured man.

"I know," said d'Artagnan, wearily. "You can go now, and annoy Athos."

Porthos scratched his chin. "Annoying Athos, that is pretty close to suicidal" He and Aramis shared a grin. "Sounds like fun..." Porthos pointed at d'Artagnan. "You get some rest and as soon as you're fit to fight again, there are a few moves I need to show you."

"Look forward to it," said d'Artagnan.

"Good evening, Madame," said Porthos bowing to Constance before he and Aramis left. D'Artagnan and Constance didn't talk till they heard the door shut.

"Were you scared?" asked Constance, not sure she really wanted to know the answer.

"Not as much as I thought I should be," admitted d'Artagnan, thinking back. "I thought I was going to die, that scared me, but it didn't at the same time... does that make sense?"

"Not really," said Constance. "You should get some rest, you look like you need it."

D'Artagnan smiled, "Not as much as I need to talk to you."

Constance hid a smile with some difficulty. "Do you think your little lines would work on me?"

"Do they?" asked d'Artagnan, hopefully.

"Get some rest," rebuffed Constance. "If you don't, I'll get Athos, Porthos and Aramis to come."

"Oh no, please don't. They are worse than mother hens," pleaded d'Artagnan. "I'm going to bed I swear." D'Artagnan headed up the stairs. Constance smiled to herself as she heard the door slam shut, she had missed that sound.

Three weeks later – the musketeer's garrison

"Remember, only light fighting," reminded Aramis he turned to Porthos, "and no attacks to the ribs."

"Can we get on with it?" asked d'Artagnan impatiently. He had been itching for a fight for weeks. The past month had been the most boring of his life.

"Just take it easy," warned Athos. He knew from experience not to go into a full fight after breaking ribs. It really wasn't a good idea.

"Don't worry. I am not going to hurt our little Charles," taunted Porthos, grinning at the glare d'Artagnan was giving him.

Porthos and d'Artagnan stayed to fight. Athos walked to Aramis, "Do you think this was a good idea?" he asked.

"Not really," said Aramis, "but I think he needs to do this, or he was going to do something stupid and reckless."

"When has he ever done something stupid and reckless?" joked Athos as the two men settled back to watch their youngest member fight his way back to full health.

Cornwall – England

A young man sat by a bed of a old man "I... going to...die," said the old man weakly. "I... need you... to... something ... for me,"

"Anything, Grandfather," said the man.

"Go to... France" ordered the man. "Gascony... find... my son... Alexandre... d'Artagnan."

"My uncle?" asked the young man, "the one you disowned?"

"Find him," begged the old man. "Give him... this letter." The old man reached for a letter on the bedside table. "Tell him... I'm sorry..."

"What if I can't find him?" asked the man.

"Then... find his son... Charles... tell them... Sorry," said the man. "Give... them.. the letter... it's important... you have to..."

"I promise I will look for them, Grandfather," said the young man "If it's the last thing I do."

**The End...**

**For now**

**Okay I am currently planning the next story called "Lies and Truths" **

**Thanks for reading my story and a big thank you to JenF for being a great beta **


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